Wanderer
by Thunderhowl
Summary: The fates were never kind to you, Wanderer," the winds whispered, "and now you have earned your rest." And at last, he could remember the words long-forgotten, whispered, sang, softly, sweetly. This is the tale of Brom, from beggining to end.


**Alright, so this will be my first multi-chapter story. I wasn't going to post it, but after much poking and a promise to write something fun/smutty by wildskysong, I have. This is the story of Brom, from the time he is born until either his death or when he leaves baby Eragon with Garrow. I have grown fondd of it, so please, friends, be gentle!**

**To Kallie, also known as wildskysong, who has pushed and beta'd and edited this to the best of her ability. And she provided like, half the plot.**

**Disclaimer- Inheritance Cycle is CP's sandbox; I'm merely playing in it. However, a lot of stuff in this story is my own, so please no stealing!**

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Prologue

_A Note From Your Narrator_

Hello, young children, fast and fleeting, there and gone, short- lived mortals, one and all. I care not if you be human or elf, dwarf or dragon, or any other being. To me all are short- lived and no one is immortal. The elves and the dragons, despite their claims of eternity, die in time, by blade, poison, illness. I have picked them up and carried them from their shattered, withered bodies. To me everything is as fleeting as a spring rain, there and gone in the blink of an eye.

If you have not guessed already, young children, old children, I am not like you. I am not bound and fettered by flesh, by blood. I am not mortal like you all, but neither am I immortal; my brothers and sisters could gight me if they wished, and maybe eveen kill me, but our parents would nott allow it. I am necessary, you see. Essential. It is I who carries those who have passed to the Lands of the Dead. It is I who prowls battlefields, hungry for souls to take away. I am the one who guides the fatal arrows, the deathly slash of a sword. As of late I have also been with the crushing blows of a hammer.]

I am Angvard, children. Death. Destruction. The Gray Man on his Gray Horse. I have many names, listeners, but you may call me Narrator. I do like to tell stories, you see. When I am not busy I sit in the Lands of the Dead and tell stories to all who listen. I am in dreams, too, whispering tales of those who have died; Dragon Riders, kings, heroes, annd villians. I have many stories to tell, all stored within me. They fill me, keep me company. My job is often thankless, you see. I need something to do besides carry the deceased.

Today I shall tell a story for all to hear, children. The living and the dead shall hear it, and those in-between. It iis one of my favorites, one I tell often.

It is a story of youth and bravery, of love and loss, of greatness, of villany. This tale spans from the Golden Time of the Dragon Riders to their Fall and beyond. There are many characters who appear. For example; a ginger-haired boy who will become a man; a beautiful, tragic woman who would both kill and give life; a future king; a traitor with mismatched eyes; and a gentle- hearted old elf, among others.

I do not know how long it will take to tell this tale, children. The man in this story lived a long life, and we start at the beginning, if only briefly. And I am a busy person, you know. People never pick the convient moments to call for me. I only ask that you stay with it until the end. The man in this story is worth any waiting. And when I'm done, perhaps you ought to seek him out. He can be found in my kingdom, laughing and talking with those he has loved, those he has lost.

So I ask for your patience, children. I shall try and do this tale justice. Sit down, children, listeners, travellers, dreamers. Sit and listen, and I shall try not to interupt too much.

This is how the story begins: The gods are meddlesome beings, and they exercise their powers over mortal beings with pleasure, not caring who they hurt, who they destroy.

This is how the story ends_: The fates were never kind to you, Wanderer_, the winds whispered_, and now you have earned your rest_. And at last, he could remember the words long-forgotten, whispered, sang, softly, sweetly.

This is the story of the Wanderer, Fireheart, Dragon Rider, lover, father, brother, hermit, storyteller. This is the story of Brom.

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**Yes, I know the idea of Death as the narrator has been used in _The Book Theif,_ but it was so very good that I felt like borrowing it. Don't worry, my version of Death won't tell the story in 1st person and he'll only show up in the prologue, interludes, and possibly epilogue, if there is one.**

**So whaddya think? Review!**


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